Chapter Twenty-Six
RAZE
My brothers move in formation around me, bloodied and burned but unbroken, each one bearing the marks of fae magic and seelie steel with the kind of pride that comes from winning wars nobody thought we could survive.
Scar limps on my left, flesh still smoking where the prince’s lightning carved through vampire resilience, while Wreck feeds on the lingering terror saturated into the very ground beneath our boots, growing stronger with each step away from the court.
Roxy walks pressed against my side, her hand wrapped tight in mine, warmth bleeding through where our palms connect despite the arctic cold radiating from the Seelie Realm.
She’s shaking, not from fear but from adrenaline crash, the aftermath of captivity and magic pushed beyond what any half-trained witch should be capable of wielding.
I can sense the exhaustion radiating from her, the way her legs threaten to give out with each step, but she refuses to slow down or show weakness even now.
That’s my girl.
The landscape around us shifts with that impossible fluidity unique to the Fae Realm, crystallized forests bleeding into meadows of frozen starlight, pathways that existed moments ago vanishing into mist when we try to retrace our steps.
Reality bends here according to rules I barely understand, laws written by beings who treat linear time like a suggestion rather than an absolute, and navigating it without fae magic feels like walking across ice that keeps reshaping itself to throw you off balance.
“We need a way out,” Coil hisses from behind us, his serpentine eyes tracking the horizon where the sky meets ground in ways that make spatial awareness a meaningless concept. “This realm will reject us soon. We’re not meant to exist here.”
He’s right.
Already, I can sense the seelie magic pushing back against our presence, reality trying to eject us like foreign bodies from a wound.
The air turns dense and resistant, every inhale tasting faintly of magic and starlight, like the realm is pushing back against anything that doesn’t belong here.
My dragon stirs uneasily beneath my skin, fire and ice grinding together in patterns that speak of discomfort bordering on pain.
We need to leave.
Now.
Before this realm decides we’ve overstayed our welcome and finds creative ways to enforce its displeasure.
“The portal the witch opened brought us here,” Scar says quietly, moving up beside me with that preternatural grace that makes vampires so lethal. “But she didn’t provide a way back. I’m assuming that was intentional.”
Of course it was.
The witch doesn’t do anything without purpose, without layers of meaning woven through every action like threads in a tapestry that only she can fully see.
She sent us here to prove I’d changed, to demonstrate that contentment wasn’t some abstract concept but something I’d earned through blood, sacrifice, and the slow, agonizing process of learning to balance elements that wanted nothing more than to tear each other apart.
Mission accomplished.
I defeated the prince, shattered his fortress, reclaimed what’s mine.
But getting home?
That’s apparently our problem to solve.
I glance down at Roxy, taking in the dark circles beneath her eyes, the way her magic still flickers weakly around her fingertips in patterns she can’t quite control.
She’s depleted, running on fumes and willpower, her witch abilities stretched beyond their limits in ways that will take days to recover from.
“Can you summon a portal?” The question comes out rougher than intended, gravel and smoke layered over genuine concern.
She lifts her chin, defiance sparking behind exhaustion. “I can try.”
“Roxy—”
“I said… I can try.” Her grip on my hand tightens, nails digging into my palm hard enough to leave crescents. “I’m not leaving you here. I’m not leaving any of you here. So, unless you’ve got a better plan, Frosted Tyrant, let me work.”
Maul rumbles something that might be approval from where he’s still partially shifted, his werewolf features bleeding through human skin in ways that speak of wounds not quite healed.
Thorn nods once, thorns receding slowly from his shoulders as he conserves what little strength remains after bleeding sap across half the Seelie Court.
Even Ruckus, who rarely takes anything seriously, watches Roxy with an expression that carries the weight of genuine respect.
My brothers.
My family.
Standing here in this impossible realm because I asked them to follow me into war for a woman that all of us barely knew two months ago.
And not one of them hesitated.
Not one of them questioned.
They came because I asked.
They bled because I led them.
And they’ll follow me home because that’s what family does, that’s what the Kings of Anarchy means beneath all the violence, criminal enterprise, and carefully maintained reputation for absolute brutality.
We protect our own.
Always.
Roxy releases my hand and steps forward, putting distance between herself and the protective circle my brothers have formed without conscious thought.
Her hands lift, trembling with exhaustion, fingers tracing patterns in the air that leave glowing trails similar to phosphorescence in deep water.
The symbols she draws are instinctive rather than trained, raw witch magic pulled from bloodlines older than recorded history, guided by desperation and need rather than careful study or practiced technique.
Nothing happens.
The air doesn’t shimmer.
Reality doesn’t fracture.
The portal that should be forming remains stubbornly absent while Roxy pours everything she has left into magic that refuses to cooperate.
Sweat beads on her forehead despite the cold, running in rivulets down her temples as she pushes harder, digs deeper, reaches for power that hovers just beyond her grasp, resembling smoke that dissipates the moment you try to catch it.
Her breathing becomes ragged, harsh gasps that speak of strain bordering on dangerous, and still she doesn’t stop, she doesn’t give up, she doesn’t let the impossible nature of what she’s attempting convince her to surrender.
So fucking stubborn.
So fucking fierce.
So fucking mine.
“Roxy, stop.” My voice cuts through her concentration. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”
“I can do this!” The words come out through gritted teeth, determination bleeding through every syllable. “I just need… more…” She staggers, her knees buckling as the magic drains her faster than her witch abilities can regenerate what she’s spending.
Scar moves to catch her, but I’m closer, crossing the distance between us in three strides, wrapping my arms around her waist before she hits the ground.
Her skin burns against mine, fever-hot from magical exhaustion, and I sense her heartbeat racing beneath my palm, too fast, too erratic, pushing limits that will break her if she doesn’t stop.
“Roxy—”
“Raze!” My name tears from her throat in a scream that carries more than sound, more than desperation.
Her magic surges outward in a wave that makes the air scream, power flooding through her in torrents that should shred her apart but instead find something else to anchor to, something solid and unbreakable that can handle the overflow.
Me.
The connection between us flares to life, that bond forged in captivity and tempered by violence, sealed with blood, fire, and the kind of intimacy that rewrites souls.
Her magic pours into me, and I pour strength back, fire and ice spiraling together not in opposition but in harmony, feeding what she needs, supporting what she’s trying to accomplish.
And suddenly, I understand.
The witch’s challenge wasn’t just about controlling fire or balancing elements or proving I’d evolved beyond the monster who burned villages to ash…
It was about this.
About recognizing that contentment isn’t something you achieve alone, it isn’t a solitary state reached through discipline, meditation, or three hundred years of enforced isolation, it’s connection.
It’s choosing to let someone else carry part of your burden and accepting that your strength becomes theirs when they need it most.
Together we are each other’s strength.
The realization hits with the force of revelation, understanding manifesting into certainty that settles like truth I should have recognized instantly.
When I saw Roxy in the Seelie Court, chained and defiant, it wasn’t just rage that transformed me into something new.
It was her presence, her strength feeding mine, her refusal to break, giving me the anchor I needed to access the voidfire that predates my curse.
She unlocked what I couldn’t reach alone.
Just like I’m giving her the power to do what should be impossible.
We’re not separate entities struggling against fate. We are halves of something greater, fire and ice, rage and balance, dragon and witch bound together in ways the curse never intended but couldn’t prevent.
No matter what her mother says, no matter what ancient laws decree, or what prices must be paid, we are each other’s destiny.
With her, I have true contentment.
Not the absence of fire, but the balance of everything I am, I’ve been, and I could become with this woman beside me.
The portal explodes into existence between one heartbeat and the next, tearing reality apart with the sound of breaking glass amplified through dimensions.
Swirling colors, painfully bright, bleed directly across the space where Roxy’s magic carved through the Seelie Realm’s defenses, showing glimpses of rough stone walls and familiar darkness, the clubhouse visible through the dimensional barrier, like salvation offered.